Measure of Danger

by Jay Klages

  His conversation with Hank had been cut off, so they hadn’t figured out a way they might coordinate a combined effort. He guessed Hank would go to one of the two employee health clinic suites for his appointment with Dr. Drakos, but which one?

  It would take Kade less than a minute to get there in a sprint if he shot the lock off the door and broke out right after seven, but he’d be under surveillance the whole way, and the gunshot would attract instant attention. Sentries would most likely come with guns drawn and would shoot on sight. He wouldn’t make it very far, probably not even out of the building.

  While he felt he couldn’t wait any longer, he wavered on strategy. Did it make sense to go help Hank or just go on his own? Hank wasn’t in the best medical condition. Could Hank even make a run for it? His tumor had degraded his mental and emotional faculties. But Hank now had a nothing-to-lose mentality, which at least seemed to provide assurance of a fearless ally.

  Kade rolled his head to the side and glanced toward the door. At the bottom of the door was a plastic cafeteria tray from when Hill had brought dinner at around six. Kade left it there with the water glass balanced on the doorknob above it to alert him if someone attempted to open the door quietly and he didn’t hear the click of the automatic lock. And even though he’d flipped the dead bolt, he assumed that could be opened from the outside.

  He traced the ceiling back from the door, past the ventilation grate he knew was too small and secured to be of use, when his eyes fixed on a common detail he’d overlooked. A smoke detector. He turned his head and scanned the rest of the ceiling and saw a single sprinkler head on the ceiling near the bed.

  A fire. That would make them come to me. The sprinkler would help douse the fire if it gets too big and hot, but it might get big enough to help me.

  Now the question was how the hell he could start a fire. After ruling out trying to create an electrical fire with one of the outlets, he recalled a few funny memories of Alex and him goofing around, starting fires in unusual ways while camping. In one instance they’d used a AA battery and a staple, following instructions from a YouTube video. Useful, of course, if only he had a battery and a staple.

  But he did have both.

  He slid his Glock under the pillow and prayed the person attending the surveillance monitors wouldn’t be watching closely for the next few minutes. He rolled out of bed to take another fake bathroom break and on the way he opened his dresser drawer, grabbing some of the plastic packaging that he’d left in there. He also picked up the plastic trash can next to the easy chair, a dirty T-shirt, and the disposable razor. He shut the bathroom door behind him and turned on the light. There was no smoke detector or sprinkler head in the bathroom. This could work.

  Taking a seat on the toilet, he took out the digital camera from the tongue of his boot and carefully removed the cylindrical miniature lithium battery from it. He was careful not to disturb the tiny memory card that now contained some key photos. He crushed the head of his disposable razor beneath the heel of his hiking shoe and separated the blade from the plastic.

  He used the blade to scrape away some of the plastic around the negative pole of the battery and made a thin groove just under it. Removing one of the staples left on the discarded clothes packaging, he straightened it out and reformed it into a U shape. While holding the battery, he inserted one end of the U into the groove. When he was satisfied, he set it on the sink counter. He flushed the toilet for no good reason other to make it seem like he had other business going on.

  He opened the cabinet below the sink and pulled out all of the toilet paper rolls and tissue boxes. He packed the trash can he’d brought inside and the one already in the bathroom tight with paper. He pulled the cardboard out of the one remaining toilet paper roll and put it on the tile floor, setting the rigged battery next to it.

  When he was finished, he flushed the toilet again to hide the noise of his pulling the shower curtain rod off its mount and sliding the curtain off it. He turned off the light, exited the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

  On his way back to the bed, he pulled the string on the window shade to flatten the slats. He’d try to keep the room dark as long as possible in the morning. He sat down on the bed facing the computer and saw that he’d spent about ten minutes in the bathroom. He coughed a few times, groaning and holding his belly like he had some gastric issues. After a minute, he lay down, curled in a fetal position, until eventually, he got under his blanket again and stretched out on his back. He slid the Glock down by his side and laid his hand on top of it.

  He was ready. Now he’d lay and wait until just before seven.

  CHAPTER 40

  Friday, June 28

  6:43 a.m. (PDT)

  AgriteX

  Pierce found Owens outside, a few hundred yards away from the headquarters building, at one of his favorite morning meditative spots, drinking tea from a travel mug. He was sitting on a comfortable all-weather bench overlooking a small stream with moss-covered rocks breaking the water’s surface. Pierce thumped over the wooden footbridge and sat down next to him. Owens saw Pierce was holding a manila folder.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to your office?” Pierce asked.

  “No, right here is secure enough. Hell, it might be safer than inside, given eighty percent of security is out on patrol.”

  “Well, you’re not going to like this,” Pierce said. “For starters, I spoke to Paul. He told me there’s an FBI operation in play against us right now. He said it started no later than June tenth and is projected to run through mid-July.”

  Owens’s demeanor darkened.

  “That lines up with the timeline he projected months ago. If this is true, which I’ll assume it is, given Paul’s track record, they may know about the launch.”

  “No, I don’t think they know yet. I thought about that on my drive back. I think if they knew our attack was imminent, given the size and scope, they would have already moved on us here at least, if not in other locations. No, I think they’re just starting to collect information on us. Financial. Communications . . .”

  Owens looked up at the sky through the forest canopy.

  “I don’t think they have drones up,” Pierce said. “I’ve entertained the possibility there might be some collaboration between the FBI and Messia. With our increased patrols, we’ve found some Mexican nationals hiding in the area. Six to be exact. We interrogated two of them and they told us that they were paid to test our security, but they were unable to give us more than a first name for a contact. We’re still holding them. I wonder how many we haven’t detected. Maybe that whole visit by Messia was planned by the FBI.”

  “I’d think their collaboration isn’t likely, but it’s possible,” Owens said. “Messia could be cooperating to avoid charges.”

  “Yes, he could. But here’s what I do know, and it’s more bad news: the FBI did penetrate us with a spy.”

  “You mean Carol Ries was working for them too?”

  “No, Kade Sims is working for them.”

  Owens’s mouth hung open for a few seconds and then he shook his head.

  “No, I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” Pierce said. “Let’s begin with the timing. Paul’s source said the start of the Bureau’s operation against us was about June tenth. Sims showed up on June eighth.”

  Owens tilted his head to each side as if weighing that piece of information.

  “Okay. So what?”

  “Marshall, I’m just getting started. And forgive me for saying this, but I think you’ve suspended your better judgment here, because you developed a liking for the kid.”

  “I couldn’t care less about him.”

  “No, I’ve seen it. You’ve treated him differently. Because he’s a techie, and he has a military background. An army background.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Yes, you have, because he reminds you of Todd.”

  When he heard Pierce speak his son’s name, Owen
s’s eyes flashed with rage and he aimed a blow at Pierce’s jaw right from where he sat. Pierce raised his forearm and easily deflected the punch upward. Owens attempted to connect on another swing, and the second time, Pierce grabbed Owens’s wrist in a firm hold.

  “Listen to me, damn it,” Pierce said in a tense whisper. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I’ve got to hand it to them. They picked a dysfunctional, bright-eyed kid. They somehow delivered him to us in a real car wreck complete with serious but not life-threatening injuries. His background story was almost flawless. He’s the kind of guy anybody would like, including me, but particularly you. You wanted to take him under your wing. We went with the Verax as per procedure, but the Verax machine doesn’t work on him because he’s an anomaly. In fact, he is the anomaly documented in the old DARPA project. I went back and looked at your copy of the design specifications from the initial study and did some additional research. Look at this.”

  Owens already appeared shocked. Pierce pulled out two photocopied pages from the folder and handed them to him.

  “This information came in an hour ago,” Pierce said. “Look—they listed the last four digits of the Social Security number on the test subject, and the military unit on the study documentation. Here’s the page from your copy of the study that you scanned into our database. Then I had a contact at the National Personnel Records Center pull Sims’s army records. As you can see—same SSN and assigned unit on each.”

  Owens took the page and stared at it, dumbfounded. Then he handed it back to Pierce and set his face down inside his palm and pinched his temples.

  “The FBI must have gambled on the flaw still being there,” Owens said. “And it worked.”

  “So the Verax provided nonsensical results on Sims the first time. We learned from going through Sims’s apartment and medicine cabinet that he had a prescription for a mood stabilizer. When we conveyed this information to Heather, she suggested we put him back on medication, thinking that otherwise he might not give accurate answers on the next test. When we realized that the cartel had someone inside, we put everyone through the Verax, including Sims. This time his responses made sense, but the machine didn’t indicate he was lying. It looks like somehow he was able to beat the machine this time at will. We don’t know how.”

  Pierce paused but Owens didn’t comment, so he went on.

  “I should’ve held firm to the other areas of his background check being completed and this wouldn’t have occurred. We should’ve kept him in isolation. But we did finally complete the check. We cross-checked audio of his sister obtained from our surveillance team with that of the recorded conversations Sims had with his supposed sister when he phoned home. The voices didn’t match. The number Sims called had to be an FBI line. Part of his cover.”

  Owens didn’t respond; he just kept nodding.

  Pierce said, “And finally, I got more information on the shooting at Nehalem Clinic. The name and address of the victim who was transferred to Emanuel. His name is Alex Pace, and his address in McLean, Virginia, matched that of Sims. When we went back to the notes from checking out Sims’s apartment, it also confirmed that.”

  Owens displayed a look of confusion. “So Sims and this Pace guy are working for the Bureau, and Pace tried to collect information on the cartel? We missed something here.”

  “Or Sims was trying to pass intelligence to Pace. We know there’s a linkage. I’m not sure the ‘how’ matters. I know you told me you were sure no one knew Todd was your son other than his mother when he died in Afghanistan. But maybe the Bureau or one of the other agencies made that connection. Maybe it was a weakness they somehow exploited.”

  Owens opened his mouth as if to speak, but returned to his thoughts for a minute. He reached and patted Pierce on the shoulder. Pierce flinched and then laughed.

  “I thought you were going to try and hit me again,” Pierce said.

  “No, I’m too damn weak to hit you,” Owens said, and sighed. “I accept all of your insights. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I’m sorry I haven’t been . . . trusting enough. You’re more than a partner and friend. You’re like a brother. Your judgment has been impeccable and obviously mine has been flawed.”

  “Given your condition, I understand,” Pierce said. “But we’re still on track. Ours is the right mission, and with a few adjustments, we’ll succeed. All preparations are in order. Since I believe we’re now under surveillance here, I recommend we cancel the attack from L-FAC only. All others continue. The Bureau and the cartel are now too focused on our headquarters. I’ll deploy the mobile command unit to guide and monitor the launch. All of our intellectual property will be removed from the headquarters ahead of schedule. All necessary relocation will occur and personnel redeployed prior to the launch ahead of schedule. A skeleton crew will remain at AgriteX and L-FAC during the actual attack.”

  “Great recommendations. I approve,” Owens said. “Keep digging for more information on what Messia is up to.”

  “I will. I also think you should go forward with your own personal Phase Two.”

  “No, I think that’s the only recommendation of yours I’ll disagree with. I’ll remain here for this battle. I think it’ll be more fun than sitting on a beach somewhere, looking over my shoulder.”

  Pierce wasn’t going to argue that point.

  “Okay. And what about the final disposition of Sims?” Pierce asked.

  “I wish we would’ve had the time to fully indoctrinate him. Make sure he’s on lockdown in his room. Do a final reading on Verax and an interrogation to see if he turns up any information we can use. Let me know the result. Then kill him—quickly and in private. Tell the other Associates he was made a Guardian and sent on a mission. And deal with Alex Pace.”

  Pierce nodded as the vibrating ring from his two-way radio buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.

  “Pierce,” he responded. He listened to what security told him and his eyes began to dart around. “Okay, when the team gets the situation under control, take him straight to the Isolation Room.”

  Pierce turned toward Owens, shoved the radio back into his belt holder, and unholstered his Sig Sauer.

  “There’s a fire alarm reported from Sims’s room,” he said. “And we have a distress alarm from Heather’s office.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Friday, June 28

  6:58 a.m. (PDT)

  AgriteX

  As soon as the smoke detector shrieked its ear-splitting tone, Kade clubbed the surveillance camera off the top of the wall with the shower curtain rod. He stomped on the camera with the heel of his boot and dashed back toward the bathroom, where the two trash cans in the bathroom were burning more fiercely by the second.

  Holding a soaked bath towel, he grabbed each can in turn by its base and set them side by side in the seat of the easy chair and pushed the chair up against the door. The plastic was already melting on the trash cans and now smoke was clouding the front area of the room. Kade pushed the bed up against the back of the easy chair and tossed the bedspread on the burning pile.

  He moved inside the bathroom and shut the door, first guzzling water from the faucet. He pulled a water-soaked T-shirt from inside the tub and tied it around his mouth, and then got down on the floor on his stomach, looking out under the crack in the door. The bathroom smoke stung his eyes, and he kept wiping tears away so he could see.

  Less than a minute later, the room door opened inward with a forceful jolt, creating about a three-inch space.

  “Get me the fuck out of here, man!” he screamed as loud as he could.

  The second jolt of the door pushed it open a foot wide. There was a blast from a CO2 fire extinguisher through the space, and then another heavy bump against the door that pushed the burning barricade back a few more inches. He could see there was now enough space for a person to get through. He stepped back into the tub and crouched down holding his Glock at the ready. The tiled front wall of the shower gave him a little cover.

  The
bathroom door flew open, inward, banged against the side of the tub, and he saw Sentry Hill step inside, bringing a cloud of smoke with him. Hill held a stun gun extended in his right hand and a can of pepper spray in his left. Kade had a split second as Hill looked straight forward, not seeing him low to his right.

  “Drop it!” Kade yelled. “Both hands down!”

  Hill turned, saw him, and froze—complete surprise on his face that Kade was leveling a gun at him.

  “Drop it, now!” Kade yelled.

  Hill’s eyes met his, and Kade knew right then that Hill wasn’t going to listen at all.

  No, don’t do it, man.

  Hill’s mouth opened and he began to yell.

  “He’s—”

  Kade fired the Glock once, hitting Hill at an upward angle in the chest area, the sound deafening in the bathroom space. Hill fell to his knees and collapsed backward in one contorted motion, sprawling out just outside the door frame. Someone who had stepped in with an extinguisher withdrew, and the room door shut on its automatic hinge.

  Kade scurried forward to Hill and could feel the fire’s searing heat on his face while he tossed Hill’s weapons toward the back of the room. Hill was still alive, but his breaths were short and raspy. He held the gun at Hill’s chest, alternating hands as he pulled out the contents of Hill’s pants pockets. In one he found what he was looking for, the silver badge with Hill’s name on it. He shoved the badge and Hill’s wallet in his front pockets. When he started to pull back, he saw a two-way radio on Hill’s hip, so he also grabbed that and shoved it in his cargo pocket. That was all the pants space he had.

  “Sorry, man,” he said, right before the room door jolted open again and collided with the burning chair. He pivoted and fired into the opened space at the cloudy shape of a Sentry in the hall while he and Hill were showered with embers.